For lots more exciting info about me, please go to my main home -

Monday, 6 July 2020

a poem based on personal experience


I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again
I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again
I open up a book and then
I think I’ll have pizza tonight.
I read the same sentence again and again
I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again
I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again
Hey look! There’s a butterfly!
I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again
I open up a book and then
I read the same sentence again and again

Sunday, 5 July 2020

on the loss of my lockdown beard


So long then. Farewell. I’ll miss you my friend.
For multiple weeks you have clung to my face.
I have to move on and our union must end. 
The moment has come to unclasp our embrace. 

So long then. Adieu. I’ll miss you my chum. 
My wife says you’re scratchy and somewhat unkempt. 
I do what she says for I’m under her thumb
and she holds you, quite frankly, in utter contempt. 

But she doesn’t know you like I do, my sweet.
You’ve stood by my side through the toughest of times.
Without you, I fear, I will feel incomplete
but this life is unfair and the death knell, it chimes. 

Goodbye then. Godspeed. Sayonara and ciao. 
Yet don’t be downhearted; I rather foresee
though the clippers are out and it’s over for now
we’ll be meeting again in a fortnight or three.

Friday, 3 July 2020



We’ll jostle Sickness in the queue
With Sickness we’ll consume a brew
Not one, not two, but quite a few
To the pub! To the pub! To the pub!

We’ll flirt with Sickness by the bar
Then order her a cheeky jar
“Oh Sickness, yer a fuckin’ star!”
To the pub! To the pub! To the pub!

We’ll dance with Sickness to the tunes
We’re free, at last, from our cocoons
We’ve longed for this for many moons
To the pub! To the pub! To the pub!

We’ll fight with Sickness in the street
We’ll puke with Sickness on concrete
Now life is normal! Life is sweet!
To the pub! To the pub! To the pub!

With Sickness we will share a cab
And all the way we’ll grope and grab
Then later on we’ll joust and jab
To the pub! To the pub! To the pub!

We’ll wake with Sickness in our beds
Emerge with Sickness in our heads
So pub tonight? Or home instead?

Thursday, 2 July 2020


This poet's left out in the cold.
Of doors there was a closure.
They took away his roof and clothes
and paid him in exposure.

Wednesday, 1 July 2020

'CATCHING UP' - poem for Gavin Williamson, Education Secretary

Well now. This new poem goes out to Williamson, Gove, Johnson, Adonis and all the men in suits who see fit to pontificate about children's education, especially during the time of the pandemic.

Tuesday, 30 June 2020


It knows the times
you sleep and wake,
and when you work
or take a break,
and every choice
you ever make —
the internet is watching. 

It clocks the things
you say and do,
with prying eyes
it spies on you
and launches a
surveillance coup —
the internet is watching.

It tracks you with
its laser sight,
observing you
both day and night.
Forever trapped,
you can’t take flight —
the internet is watching. 

Its pincers poke
inside your brain;
You can’t opt out,
you can’t abstain,
so mind your step
and don’t complain —

the internet is watching.

Sunday, 28 June 2020



Wankers on the beach
They’re streaming in
Cheek to cheek
With peeling skin
Rammed and crammed
And jammed like hogs
Wobbling bellies
Screaming sprogs

Wankers on the beach
In all their glory
Clapping nurses
Voting Tory
Spreading germs
And leaving mess
Sun and stupor

Wankers on the beach
Don’t give a stuff
Sod all this
They’ve had enough
Fast and loose
And not complying
Seize the day?
They’re carpe die-ing.

Saturday, 27 June 2020


My wife is an English Teacher, and I am very honoured to be able to share the following poem, written by one of her Year 9 students, in her own time. I hope you are as impressed by Sonia's extremely powerful words as my wife and I were:

What do we have to do? By Sonia Year 9

I don't understand
What we have to do
We’ve screamed and shouted but don’t seem to cut through
The hatred and fear that these politicians hold
They only trust themselves,
don’t listen to what they’re told
Don’t listen to the screams and the sorrows
Don’t listen to the voices of tomorrow
Don’t listen to the people whose power
they have stolen, not borrowed.
I strive to understand for just one day
Understand the racism,
understand the pain
Of being judged every second of your life
Just because of your skin,
just because you’re not white.
And while the politicians try to justify
Every single lie,
try to change our minds
Everyone knows this isn’t a one-time thing
This was the tip of the iceberg,
and now it’s time to sing.
It’s time to stand with the brethren,
who have been taken to heaven
By murderers who murdered kids who were only seven-
Teen, barely starting his life
he was murdered in cold blood.
Zimmerman, i’ve been reconsidering,
it’s pretty disheartening
One bad white man
and trayvon had to fight for his life
This isn’t a joke,
You didn’t have a knife,
You had a gun,
He tried to run
But that country is a mess
Forget the flag, forget the fucking pledge
That piece of human garbage-the president;
is about to be tipped over the edge
No, there isn’t a flaw in the system, the flaw IS the system,
If he’d just sit down and listen
But he can’t.
That man is not a man he is a child.
How can he run our country,
the country is fucked up
And because of it innocent people are dying on its unforgiving hands
In its unforgiving lands
and there’s no going back
The stack has stacked on stack
on stack on stack
It’s about to topple over so

watch your back

Friday, 26 June 2020


I just can’t help but rhyme.
I do it all the time. 
I crowbar it into my poems
and sometimes it doesn’t…slime. 

I’m a rhyming kind of guy.
Don’t even ask me why. 
Perhaps I shouldn’t force it though
since everyone says that…pie.

See rhyming is just what I do.
I’m a rhymer through and through. 
I often try to shoehorn it
when people think it's…moo. 

Sometimes it makes no sense
but I can’t sit on the fence,
so I’ll simply go and cram it in
even when I...hence.

Wednesday, 24 June 2020


My Buddy

My buddy is an outcast.
Yes, her reputation’s bad.  
Some say she’s superficial,
others claim she drives them mad. 

She gets up people’s noses
and she may be a pariah
but I swear I’ll never leave her
for she’s all that I require. 

My buddy is creative
and she likes to josh about. 
Some say she isn’t serious 
and that she’s lacking clout

but she’s really very loving
as she wraps you in her arms.
Although the masses don’t agree,
I love her quirky charms. 

No, my buddy isn’t popular.
She hasn’t many fans
but she helps me with my reading
and her name is Comic Sans.

Tuesday, 23 June 2020



She’s my granny, my nan,
my number one fan,
when I say I can’t do it
she tells me I can.

When I pen a nice rhyme
to deposit online
and no one reacts,
she’ll opine that it’s fine.

She’ll say I’m the best
so I best not get stressed.
With a groupie like her
I confess I am blessed. 

She’s my granny, my nan,
I’m her man, she’s my stan
on Twitter and Facebook
and on Instagram.

Whenever I’m lewd
or I’m crude or a pseud,
she’ll still click on ‘like’
so I feel like a dude.

She don’t know the lingo
or understand slang,
she votes for the people
my verses harangue 

but her love for me?
She can’t help but show it,
for I am her hero,
her grandson: the poet.

Monday, 22 June 2020


Along with Catton Grove Primary, St Lawrence CE Primary, in Hampshire, have been regularly getting in touch with me during the lockdown, engaging with the creative activities I have been setting online. One of my recent challenges was to write Maths Poems, in which pupils turn themselves into mathematical equations, as in my poem above. This is a wonderful, cross-curricular activity, which both helps children grasp the fundamentals of mathematics, and explore their own identity. How many more boxes could you possibly want to tick?! Anyway, with this in mind, here are some lovely poems from the pupils of St Lawrence Primary, from right the way across the age range:

Saturday, 20 June 2020


Was it because of those pictures of cats?
Was it because I had too many spats?
Was it because of my tinfoil hat?
O, where have my followers gone?

Was it because I support the wrong team?
Was it because I’m a bit too extreme?
Was it because of that old racist meme?
O, where have my followers gone?

Was it because I was giving it large?
Was it because my self-pride’s supercharged? 
Was it because I praised Nigel Farage?
O, where have my followers gone?

Was it because I said BLM sucks?
Was it because I call everyone ‘cucks’?
Was it because I’m an arsehole-deluxe?
O, where have my followers gone?

Perhaps it’s because I make everyone sick.
Perhaps it turns out that I’m simply quite thick.
Perhaps it was just that unwanted dick-pic...
O, where have my followers gone?

Friday, 19 June 2020

A poem for Dominic Raab, Foreign Secretary


Dominic Raab
Dominic Raab
Tarted up smart
In his sharp-suited garb


Let us all hope
That his Winter is Coming

on 18/06/20, Dominic Raab embarrassingly and erroneously claimed in an interview that the phrase 'Take The Knee' originated with TV series Game of Thrones

Thursday, 18 June 2020



I see
a sea lion
lying in the sea

In fact I see
a trio there
one, two, three

I see
three sea lions
lying by the quay

Can they see
me seeing them?

We’ll just have to see

Where, Wolf?

Where, wolf?
Over there, wolf!

Howling in the meadow
at the moon full-bright

Where, wolf?
Over there, wolf!

Prowling through the forest
in the deep, dark night

Where, wolf?
Over there, wolf!

Crazy flashing eyeballs
and a very hairy back

Where, wolf?
Over there, wolf!

Coming here to get us
and it's ready to attack!